by Prescott Lane
Coming August 17, 2017
A new
Contemporary Romance standalone
from
Prescott Lane
No one said finding love was easy, but when you
invented the world’s bestselling vibrator, it’s near impossible. Yep, that’s
right. That little toy hidden in your bedside table is my brain child. It’s
aptly named, Woman on Top. And you know what they say...it’s lonely at the top.
So I’m headed home to my Southern roots. It’s
supposed to be an extended Summer vacation—nothing more. But Rorke Weston has
other plans for me. Plans that not only involve me being on top, but also
underneath him.
It’s been said, you never forget your first. For
me, that’s definitely true. No night has ever lived up to the one I spent with
Rorke.
He’s turned into quite a man. Tan from the
Southern sun, and stubborn as the day is long. And there’s nothing sweeter than
the swipe of his tongue.
Rorke wants his chance. The one we never had.
But that was a long time ago. When I still believed in Prince Charming and
Happily Ever Afters. Even ten years
later, I feel a pull. And it’s not simply Rorke yanking down my panties.
Do second chances really happen? Or is my heart simply toying with me?
Excerpt:
Hammering the nail with one hard pound, I
mutter, “Friends?”
That should be a cuss word, especially
coming out of her full, pink lips. I
toss the hammer aside, scanning the mostly-converted barn. Yep, I live in a barn. Well, not any barn. The barn where Sterling and I lost our
virginity. I know just the spot. It’s the spot where my bed is now.
I didn’t plan it that way. In fact, I didn’t even really think about it
until she showed up in town the other day.
I came home, walked in, and realized I’ve designed this place around
her. Crazy, but true. That woman has burned herself into the
deepest parts of my soul. Deeper than
even I realized. She was my first, a
memory. I thought it was over. I thought we’d only ever get that one
night. She had her life, and I had
mine. I didn’t see this coming.
This old barn sits on the edge of my
parents’ property. It sucks to be almost
thirty and still living on my parents’ land.
Technically, I’m not living at home, but sometimes it feels like it. Unfortunately, buying my own house on my
teaching salary isn’t in the cards, so a few years ago, I started converting
one of the old barns.
Every nail, every piece of wood in here
has been touched by me. And it’s almost
done. It’s wide open, designed that way
mostly because it’s less work than putting up a bunch of walls. The only room with any privacy is the
bathroom. I left the distressed rafters
from the ceiling exposed and just refinished them. The original sliding barn doors have been
replaced with new ones. Almost one whole
wall houses my personal library. The
only thing left to finish is the kitchen.
The upper cabinets are in, but my only appliances are a refrigerator and
microwave. So any real meals I eat come
from the main house — my parents’ house.
My plan is to use part of my summer vacation to finish it up.
I look over at the bed. My subconscious must have taken over with
that decision. Sterling is etched into
the fiber of this place. Maybe that’s
the reason I haven’t ever brought a woman to see this place before? Who knows?
The subconscious is a tricky bitch.
But the memories of that day and night
are so vivid. It’s all flooding back now
that she’s back.
I remember a buddy of mine had rushed me
home my freshman year of college, making the two-and-a-half-hour drive from New
Orleans in just under two. But I was too
late. I wasn’t here when Levi took his
last breath. Those few days are a
blur. Everything is a blur until the
moment I stood up at his funeral to speak; her green eyes were the only thing I
saw, her whimpers the only ones I heard.
I hadn’t expected her to be there.
I hadn’t expected her to fly home from college to say goodbye to my
brother, but she had. And I didn’t
expect her to find me at my parents’ house after the funeral. I swear, there were hundreds of people there,
and it was the loneliest day of my life.
I had to get out of there and started walking. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but when I need
to think, I tend to walk. That day,
Sterling was by my side. We didn’t talk,
roaming around the fields until we ended up at this old barn. It was the place that Levi and I escaped
to. As little kids, we’d used it as a
fort, a clubhouse. Later, it held our
bikes and four wheelers.
I remember being embarrassed bringing
Sterling inside. It was old and filled
with our junk. The only place to even
sit was an old, beat up sofa. We made
good use of it, though.
I’ve never been as unprepared for
something as I was that day. Unprepared
to put my brother in the ground, unprepared to lose my virginity, unprepared to
let her walk away.
I chuckle remembering exactly how
unprepared I was when our naked bodies first touched. My brain thought “condom.” But I didn’t have one. My dick promised it’d pull out. But I had no idea the kind of willpower that
would take. I swear to God, I had every
intention of pulling out.
I thought for sure that she’d kill me,
and quickly launched into the lamest apology in the history of the
universe. Just thinking about it makes
me cringe. I was never so thankful for
anything in my whole life as when she kissed me to shut me up, whispering she
was on the pill.
Some might think it’s a dick move to be
banging a girl the day you bury your twin brother. But it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t cheap. I didn’t think of it as a one-night stand,
even though technically it was. It’s
impossible to explain. It was us
clinging onto life, onto each other.
Emily Brontë wrote, "Whatever
our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” And after that night, our souls have been
forever linked.
Every single second of that night is
burned into my mind, my heart, my skin.
After that night, we stayed in touch for
a long time — email, phone calls. But we
were thousands of miles apart. And our
paths never crossed again. If I was at
home on break, she wasn’t. It just
seemed like it wasn’t meant to be. She
is the one that got away. We never got
our chance.
Now she’s back, and she thinks we can be
friends? I spent my entire childhood and
teenage years being “friends” with her.
She wants to be friends? That’s fine.
I’ll be her friend. But I’ll be
damned if that’s all I am.
About the Author:
Prescott
Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of STRIPPED RAW. She's got seven other
books under her belt including: FIRST POSITION, PERFECTLY BROKEN, QUIET ANGEL,
WRAPPED IN LACE, LAYERS OF HER, THE REASON FOR ME, and THE SEX BUCKET LIST.
She
is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a
MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they
currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs.
Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a
talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance
novels because there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.
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